How Big is Your Brave?
This weekend I had the opportunity to participate in Eastern Mennonite University’s town-hall gathering about race. Specifically, how white people talk about race. The night was structured in such a way that conversation was encouraged and honesty was welcomed with open arms. We were seated in small groups that were mixed up in age and race and led by a student facilitator. On the stage there was a panel of white people of different ages and professions that would answer a presented question before we discussed the question in our small groups. Before we started the questions and explorations we watched a video by Robin DiAngelo about white fragility. White fragility is a term used to describe the defensiveness and discomfort white people respond with to race issues- specifically issues of racial injustice and and inequality. White fragility is so effective in keeping racism functioning in our society today. If you have an interest in exploring your own relation to white fragility, white privilege, and race I would suggest looking more into DiAngelo’s work.
But in this post, I will be asking and answering questions instead of trying to educate on white fragility and privilege. These questions will be hard but you will not be answering alone. I think it is absolutely vital that we start unpacking how we respond to race as an individual and how our actions impact our communities and our countries. It is no longer enough to just want the best for all races and want racism to end. It is also no longer enough to know people who use their voices in the fight against racism, white supremacy, and these systems we live in. And in reality, it never was enough in the first place. These spaces I speak in get lonely when I am the only one in conversation. They also are not productive when only people of colour are the ones invested. So I invite you into this, whatever * this is- take it as you want.
I will throw out six questions, answer the questions, and leave you with seven questions to answer for yourself. When you are done reading, feel free to reach out to me, comment, talk to your circles or post your answers online. However you choose to interact is fine, just make sure you are no longer silent. I understand that what I am asking takes a certain amount of courage and bravery but if we do not begin now, when is the right time?
To start, I want to share this video from the NAACP Image Awards. Before you engage further with my words, please give this a listen.
Today, read the rest of my words. Next, add your answers. Then, “tell your friends to pull up.”
Without further ado, here are the questions:
Do you dare to talk about race? Do you only talk about race with your own race?
How proximate to people of colour are you? Do you have relationships and connections with them?
Where do we find places of comfort and home? Is everyone comfortable when we are in the room?
Why are we so afraid to speak about race?
How often do we expose ourselves to discomfort?
What has our religion taught us about how to interact with race?
Here are my answers:
Do you dare to talk about race? Do you only talk about race with your own race?
I talk about race a lot nowadays. The more I learn and the more I experience I cannot help but speak about race. And not just the inequality and injustice, but the goodness in our differences, cultures, and beauty. The more I educate myself and figure out how to stand in the truth, the more confident I am. But it has not always been this way and it is not always easy. My ‘safe spaces’ to talk about race are with other black people. I do not feel I have to walk on eggshells or will destroy the relationship if I do not communicate in a way they wish to receive. For a long time white fragility had me silent because I did not want to offend people, lose those I loved, or be told my words do not ring true. But over the years I have stopped waiting for the permission from white people to talk about race. And I have stopped letting white people dictate how exactly the conversation should go. I have focused on learning as much as I can about race and I have started listening to the other marginalized voices around me.
How proximate to people of colour are you? Do you have relationships and connections with them?
Before I moved to Kenya I knew very few people of colour. And even living in Kenya, one must be consciously trying to create diverse circles. It is possible to live in a majority black or brown country and only have a white community. But I was blessed with friends from everywhere. I ask this second question because to know or love someone of colour does not mean much if you do not have relationships or connections with them. Who sits around your tables? Who is given voice to speak at your table. I have mentioned this before but I will say it again:
If you know a person of colour you know someone who has a negative story about race or culture. If you know a person of colour you know someone who has a positive story about race or their culture. If you do not know a person of colour then therein lies a problem. If the person of colour you love has not discussed race with you, then it is not safe to assume they do not deal with it. It is safe to assume they are not comfortable talking to you about it. If you have not tried to talk to the people of colour in your life about race then that is another issue as well.
Where do we find places of comfort and home? Is everyone comfortable when we are in the room?
I find places of comfort and home around like-minded people. And around people who have had similar experiences as me. I find mostly it is with people who have lived in transient communities and overseas. Those that know many homes and embrace them all. I also feel at home with black people. Now, I am adopted so I do have places of comfort in white spaces, but I feel I can be the most me in black spaces. And I will admit, I feel my presence often makes white people uncomfortable if I am a minority in the room. And not only just in a room with all white people, but if I am in a room of Hispanics, or Indians, or other groups where I am a minority, I frequently feel out of place. Not because I am treated in a bad way (though in all white spaces I sometimes am), but because I am alone in who I am. I feel my entire existence is a rebellion and a shaking up of the normal. But I am learning to find my footing and my voice because there is so much potential for growth when I am in these spaces where I am alone. On one hand, it is a great time for me to learn. I can observe and explore how others interact with the world, with me, and each other. On the other hand, it is a built in way to potentially amplify my voice. I do not enjoy choosing the latter, but when I do, it is usually in the form of my poetry.
Why are we so afraid to speak about race?
I do not think we were born afraid. At least, I was not. My parents, to my memory, were also not ones to shy away from race conversations. I am fortunate in that regard. I know many adopted kids whose parents do not speak about race. I think my fear came from rejections and invalidation. It is so easy for me as a black women to be labelled as a threat when I come in passionate about anything that has to do with race. And once you are labelled as a threat, it is easier for people to be okay in the ways they discard you and try to invalidate and neutralize you. So I believe my fear came from past conversations I have had about race. Specifically with people I love. After a while of being shushed and ignored, you start to wonder if you have anything of any worth to say. You open your mouth, uncertain if what you say will be heard. And since race is so closely connected to identity and culture it is hard to take invalidation, rejection, silencing, and all the other ways you’ve been received, as not personal. It then begins to come across as you not being welcome in these spaces.
How often do we expose ourselves to discomfort?
I like comfort. Even though I know I do not grow it its embrace, I enjoy it. But more and more I have been exposing myself to discomfort by ways of putting my writing out there. I have been trying to stay in the tension of these conversations that we usually shy away from. Most of my family is white and I have been trying to bridge that race gap with them by sharing my life and the truths I know about racial inequality and injustice. I must admit, I do not know how well it is working. I also am not always sure how well it is going when I talk to white friends about race. Some days I feel I am yelling into the void; my words are falling into darkness and I will be next. But I am trying. Balancing along the edge and when the discomfort gets too bad, I remind myself that I need only take half a step left.
What has our religion taught us about how to interact with race?
I grew up Christian in the Mennonite denomination. I spent four years in Kenya, seven in Virginia, seven back in Kenya, one in Oregon, and now I am back in Virginia for right now. I grew up in churches and faith communities those entire years. What has struck me the most when I reflect on what religion has taught me about race is that so often it does not want to interact. By this I mean when I lived in Kenya and when to an American Christian school we hardly discussed what it was to be Christian in a black country and how we were impacting others. And when I look to American Christianity I see all this talk about love and how we are all sinners and how we must bring people to God but I do not see churches talk as much about racial equality and injustice. We get so caught up on other push button topics, like homosexuality and abortion, that we seem to not have any more energy left to talk about race. So I guess you could say that religion has taught me to stay silent and ‘not see race.’ I have learned that who we love and the unborn babies are more important than those impacted by injustice and inequality. I have learned that we are all sinners, no matter our race, and that we just must love each other as best as we can. I have had faith thrown in my face as a reason to forgive a white person without them actually changing. From what I have seen, religion is a weapon white people love to use as an excuse to not engage with race and to silence those who are doing the work to decolonize the systems we are a part of and remedy the harm that has been done. Those were the lessons I saw growing up. But these past couple years I am trying to unlearn this message. I went to a wonderful church in Kenya, St. Julian’s, which exposed me to how great Christianity and Christians can be. I started to listen to the voices of black theologians and voices of Christian people of colour. I have started realizing that being Christian does not mean we must turn away from race.
Your turn:
Do you dare to talk about race? Do you only talk about race with your own race?
How proximate to people of colour are you? Do you have relationships and connections with them?
Where do we find places of comfort and home? Is everyone comfortable when we are in the room?
Why are we so afraid to speak about race?
How often do we expose ourselves to discomfort?
What has our religion taught us about how to interact with race?
How big is your brave?
